


All Day

by BridgetteIrish



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgetteIrish/pseuds/BridgetteIrish
Summary: Classic French Chef Cat Grant is happy and comfortable in her established, successful restaurant, C'est Toi, nestled in the trendy National City Oakdale neighborhood.But when self-taught farmer-turned-chef, Kara Danvers, opens up a homey farm-to-table place across the street, everything changes.And Cat Grant is not easy to change.OrThe Chef AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who helped me headcanon this story. reginalovesemma, writerstealth, fictorium, xxTorchxx, abcooper, rtarara, inspectorboxer and anyone I may have forgotten. You have all been instrumental in bringing this story to life and I will be forever grateful for your thoughts, your ideas, your enthusiasm and your encouragement.
> 
> Thank you to fictorium, xxtorchxx and reginalovesemma for edits and final thoughts and reginalovesemma for line edits and calling me out on my bullshit and overuse of jargon.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

“I’ve got four halibut all day!” Lucy shouted to the  _ poissonnier _ , who waved at her absently, but pulled two more halibut filets from the cooler around the corner .  “A bit less salt in the sauce this time please,” she threw at the  _ saucier _ on her other side.  She checked her tickets and leaned over to her  _ chef de partie _ .  “Fire two duck specials and a scallop app, on the fly.  The mayor’s here and I’m sure Cat would like to get him out of here before he grabs her ass again.”

“It’s true that I despise his red sausage fingers groping me, but frankly, it’s the lewd filthy come-ons that really set me over the edge.”  Cat entered her kitchen breezily and took a deep breath.  Steam rose from various points about the open area, each corner of her domain yielding a new scent or sound.  A garlicky tang from the sauce station, yielding a creamy  _ velouté _ that complimented her duck like a dream, the char of the grill where the tuna and swordfish steaks were given barely a sear, the eggy sweetness of the almond custard.  Cat gave herself a moment to survey her  _ brigade de cuisine _ .  The best french chefs in the city, poached carefully over the years from the chefs who had taught her the trade.   _ C’est To _ i was the model of a modern French kitchen.  Carefully assigned duties, stations and specialties created a choreographed dance that made Cat’s heart flutter even now, ten years after she had launched.  

Her  _ patissier _ was currently dropping berry compote into ramekins for baking and she could see the delicate souffle through the door of the convection oven.  She plucked a spoon from a cup in the corner of Winn’s table and dipped the tip into the compote to taste.  Berry and sugar burst across her tongue.  “Mm.  A touch more lemon, Winslow, otherwise, divine.”  Her pastry chef grinned triumphantly and pulled a lemon from a pan at his right hand.

Her  _ entremetier _ was garnishing a flawless porcini risotto she had spent hours in her own kitchen at home perfecting.  She could hear it’s perfection in the way the wooden spoon dragged through the creamy rice.  She didn’t need to taste it to know it was right and she could smell the dark sweetness of the touch of saffron being added in that moment.

And at the center of it all was her tireless sous-chef.  The best  _ aboyeur _ Cat had ever met.  She’d dug her out of a cramped  _ trattoria _ in Little Italy, put her in proper chef whites and watched her blossom.  She needed little direction, replicated Cat’s work with razor precision and recently had been floating her own recipes to moderate success.

Cat was judicious with her praise, but Lucy didn’t need it.  She knew she was good and she ran Cat’s kitchen with a velvet-covered iron fist.  Cat’s chilly heart swelled with pride as her protégé tossed orders about the kitchen with practiced ease and a bit of hidden joy.

She pulled Lucy aside and threw a wary glance around the kitchen.  She didn’t want her news to upset the balance in her kitchen, which always teetered on a knife’s edge on a busy Saturday night.

“Heads up, Lane.  Lena Luthor’s here tonight.  Everything has to be perfect.  For some yet to be discovered reason, the entire city falls all over themselves to visit places she likes and God knows we could use the new business.”  Cat pulled a pen and notepad from her shoulder sleeve and began making notes.  “You and I are going to cook for the table.  I don’t want anyone else’s hands on it.  James is already working on wine pairings.  She asked for the full tasting menu, of course.”

Lucy sprang into action without even a flinch.  “Snapper! Come expedite.”   


The entire kitchen groaned in displeasure.  Lucas ‘Snapper’ Carr, so nicknamed for snappy, cutting wit in the kitchen and his ability to filet a young chef’s confidence faster than he can filet a fresh snapper, circled the counter and pulled his notebook from his coat pocket.  “Quiet!” He cried.  “Put your heads down and work.  Next person to complain will be cleaning the grease traps with a toothbrush.  Willis, take over entrees, but don’t let your sauces curdle.  You’re the only idiot in here that can do two things at once, so don’t fuck it up, or you’ll be on dish duty for a month.”  The kitchen rearranged itself without a word and Lucy and Cat each raised an eyebrow.  Snapper managed a smug little smile.  “Carry on ladies.  Gotta impress the rabble.  Cat, your kitchen is safe, or as safe as it can be with these monkeys who call themselves chefs.  Shoo.  Let me work.”   


Lucy and Cat exchanged an exasperated look.  Cat patted Snapper on the shoulder.  “Thanks chef,” she offered beatifically.  He grunted in response.  “Just keep it to a dull roar so the dining room doesn’t hear when you start throwing pots around.”   


His admonishment of the waitstaff and her  _ brigade de cuisine _ could be addressed another time, but they all knew it would never change.  Snapper had been at Cat’s side since the day she’d opened her doors.  He was a brilliant cook and knew more about French cuisine than even the old Paris dinosaurs that had taught Cat the trade.  She trusted him with her life, with her son and with her restaurant, and if that meant putting up with him being an insufferable ass ninety percent of the time, so be it.

When Lucy was hired, rumors engulfed the kitchen and waitstaff like wildfire about why she had been hired over Snapper, who everyone perceived as next in line for sous.  Everyone had expected him to quit and drop his chef coat on the grill on his way out, but here they were, two years later and while they weren’t necessarily bosom buddies, the staff observed them sharing a glass of wine and a cheese board each night after shutting down the kitchen and doffing their whites.  If Snapper felt passed over, he didn’t show it, and he seemed content with his place in Cat’s world.

Lucy carved out a space in the corner of the kitchen where she and Cat could work uninterrupted.  Cat began an impeccable  _ brunoise _ of several freshly cleaned leeks.  Her leek gratin was known city-wide and she took particular pleasure in crafting it each time.  “Luce, bring me the puff pastry and the buttermilk?”

“Yes, chef.”  Lucy leapt into action, pulling ingredients from the cooler.  In less than a minute, Cat had everything she needed for her gratin and had set aside the ingredients for a cherry brandy  _ clafouti _ that she didn’t trust in anyone’s hands but her own.  Lucy, for her part, began prepping the cheese and soup courses and put a large kettle on for the lobster that would become a fresh citrusy salad, a particular personal triumph of Lucy’s. 

The evening flew by.  The kitchen hummed.  Snapper kept himself in check, even if the occasional creative demand or admonition rang through the cavernous room.  Lucy meticulously sliced decadent portions of pork belly that had been braising in her oven since that afternoon while Cat fried calamari to perfection and sprinkled it with truffle oil. 

Cat’s head waiter, Barry Allen, became solely responsible for Lena Luthor’s table.  Only the best for the Tribune’s lauded food critic, and Barry had an uncanny way of pulling off any far-fetched demand in seconds, no matter how impossible.  Cat was never quite sure how he managed it.  

Lena was known for being picky, but fair, overly flowery in her prose and liberal in her tableside wine consumption.  More importantly, though, she had become a goddamn oracle when it came to fine dining in National City.  If she liked a place, people flocked to it, if she didn’t, it became a ghost town.  She was on-trend, entertaining and not shy about expecting the best when she turned up at a place for dinner.  And the best, was just what Cat had given her.  Lena had breezed into the dining room with an entourage of stylish friends and ordered the tasting menu for all.  While Barry kept the table happy, James kept them well-lubricated, pairing each course with a wine, liqueur or cocktail crafted especially for the Chef’s Tasting Menu.  He was also charming and handsome and if the bedroom eyes Lena had been throwing his way was any indication, they’d get a good review for the way he corked a bottle alone.

Cat was effervescent in the descriptions of her creations and did her own share of flirting with Lena, albeit unintentionally.  French, after all, was the language of love.  It couldn’t be helped.  When she’d finished describing her signature clafouti in flawless French, Lena had responded in kind, telling Cat,  _ “J'en ai beaucoup entendu parler.  J'ai hâte de goûter.”   _ (I’ve heard so much about it.  I can’t wait to taste.) 

_ “J'espère qu'il satisfait”  _ (I hope it satisfies), Cat answered with a wink before turning on her heel and returning to the kitchen to help Lucy garnish the cheese course.

 

+++

 

It was almost midnight by the time the last fork was clean and the pile of soiled chef’s whites had been bundled into that day’s laundry to go out on the laundry truck at first light.  Most of the staff was taking advantage of Cat’s unusual generosity and letting James mix them experimental cocktails in the bar.  Occasional bursts of laughter and shouts peppered the quiet of the back office where Cat, Snapper and Lucy sat sipping from a bottle of obscenely expensive reserve label Champagne Cat had been saving since her last trip to Paris.

Half-scrawled recipe ideas, ingredient lists and an ancient old-fashioned Rolodex full of Cat’s supplier contacts littered the antique mahogany desk where Cat’s feet rested next to a perfectly modern tablet, where electronic versions of the clutter lived in organized chaos.

“So, what do you think, Chef?  Five stars from Lady Luthor or will she filet us like one of Snapper’s undercooked salmon?”

“Watch it, Curly,” Snapper drained his glass and poured another.  “The charred ruin you called tenderloin might have us all out on our ears by the end of the month.”

“Enough,” Cat drawled.  “You’re both pretty.”  She was feeling relieved and buoyant and tired.  Tonight had felt like those old days in Paris.  Before purchase orders and table turn times and payrolls and the minutiae of choosing china and napkins and water glasses.  It felt like the days when every moment in the kitchen was about the food.  The smells and the flavors and the rush of creating.  The heat of the stovetop and the chill of the walk-in and the pulse of the chefs in sync.  She had missed those days when cooking felt like making love and her nights would end with her helping the head chef of  _ Chez Victoire _ out of her coat and pressing her against the brick wall in the alley behind the bistro.  

Cat was humming with energy and a tiny part of her groaned at the lack of a warm body to share her success.  She settled for another glass of exquisite champagne and another bite of souffle leftover from the evening’s dessert cart.  “She’ll give us a rave review.  We’ve never had anything less.  What could she possibly dislike?  We’re the best game in town,  _ mes petits cuisiniers _ .”  She stood from her desk.  “I’m going home, darlings.  Please kick out my drunken staff before you lock up.  Snapper, I’ll need you in early to prep the consomme for tomorrow’s special.  Luce, we’re low on pomegranates.  Swing by the farmer’s market in the morning and get a few.  Feel free to pick up anything else that looks good.  Put together an amuse bouche for tomorrow night.”

Lucy smiled and preened at being given the chance to put her work on the menu again.  “Thanks, Cat.”

“Don’t thank me.  Astonish me.”  She pointed at Lucy and strode from the room throwing a casual, “ _ Bon nuit! _ ” behind her.

 

+++

 

“Kara, slow down, it’s the PCH, not the Monte Carlo Grand Prix.”  Kara Danvers glanced over at her sister, Alex who was gripping the handle above the truck door mouthing what she could only assume was some kind of silent prayer.  The headlights illuminated the pitch blackness ahead of them, which promised a hairpin turn every few seconds.  Sunrise was at least another hour away and Kara couldn’t help but wonder if they should have waited until daybreak to start the drive.

Kara let off the gas a bit and her smile widened.

“Sorry, sis.  I think I’m just excited.  We’ve got so much to do!  And so little time!”

“I know.  But National City, and Oakdale, and the restaurant will all still be there even if we don’t break the land speed record.  Besides, I don’t want to be the one to have to face Mom if this very expensive refrigerated trailer full of her prized dairy ends up in the Pacific.”  Her point was proven when a waddling opossum appeared seemingly out of nowhere on the road in front of them.   Kara swerved, barely missing the creature, but the trailer behind the truck veered onto the shoulder just a bit.  Gravel flew down the mountainside and both Alex and Kara let out a long, sustained scream before Kara slowed to a near crawl and caught her breath.

“Pull over,” Alex gasped.

“What? No!  I’m fine.”

“Pull. Over.”

“Alex.”

“Kara Ellen Danvers, I swear on all that is green and growing, if you do not pull this truck over right this second, I will make you hunt mushrooms during apple harvest.”

Kara relented and pulled over at the next observation outcropping along the highway.  They switched places and as Alex pulled carefully back onto the road, Kara rolled her window down all the way.  She leaned her elbow and head out the side of her beloved old chevy S10, let the wind blow in her face and dreamed of what owning her own restaurant in the heart of National City’s favorite art district would be like.

 

+++

 

They pulled up in front of Kara’s new restaurant just as the golden California sun was peeking over the National City skyline.  She got out, stretched and looked up at her new home, her dream, her very own restaurant.  Her heart was racing in anticipation of getting into the kitchen.  The ‘For Lease’ sign in the window was pasted over with the word ‘Leased’ in bright red letters.

Alex came up next to her and tossed an arm across her shoulders.  “Ready little sister?”

Kara nodded and blinked back tears.  “So ready.”

An hour later, they had dusted the tables and counters in the dining area and Alex was wiping down, disinfecting and testing all the kitchen’s equipment.  There were a few things that needed minor repairs and the kitchen floor would need a thorough cleaning and seal, plus the grease traps would need to be replaced entirely if they were going to pass inspection, but Kara took in a deep breath and imagined the place as it could be.  Everything else could be dealt with.

Kara made a quick detour up the rickety back staircase with a single cardboard box to the tiny apartment above the restaurant that would be her new home.  She threw open the window facing the cobblestone street and pulled a gingham curtain from the box.  She hung the curtain carefully and leaned out the window, suppressing a little squeal at the sight of the vibrant little neighborhood just waking up on it’s lazy Sunday morning.

“Cooler is good!” Alex’s distant voice from the kitchen below drew her thoughts back inside and she hurried back down the stairs.

Kara made her way outside to begin unloading the trailer, satisfied that her buttermilk and eggs wouldn’t spoil.

Once the trailer was empty and the walk-in cooler was full, they began hauling crate after crate of produce from the back of the S10.

“Don’t look now,” Alex whispered, “but I think we’re being watched.”

Kara managed to sneak a glance and spotted two petite women eyeing them from ‘ _ C’est Toi’ _ across the street.

“Okay, I know you don’t care about this, but that’s Cat Freaking Grant and I’m going to totally fail at playing it cool, so, let’s just get a couple more crates and then go over there and introduce ourselves.”

 “I don’t want to go over there.”

“Tough.  Sister code demands you back me up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the gayborhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to reginalovesemma for being the very best beta.

Sunday morning proved as idyllic as California mornings were advertised. Cat carefully parked her Prius in its regular spot in the gravel alley just behind  _ C’est Toi _ .  Carter, her perfect, funny, curly-haired, teenage son, tumbled out of the passenger side, retrieved his backpack and knife bag from the backseat and tore into the restaurant.  Lucy’s old Toyota parked next to the dumpster indicated her sous was already inside and she shouldn’t be alarmed by the unlocked door.  Cat wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy had slept in the office surrounded by notes, dreaming up the perfect addition to that evening’s aperitif menu.  “Carter, don’t run with your knives, and no stove, grill or oven until I get in there!”

He waved hastily before disappearing behind the heavy iron door.

She shook her head and pulled out her own knife bag and neatly folded chef’s coat from the backseat.  She’d used her best, newest whites last night, so today she’d brought her old favorite.  The one with just a bit of pink embroidery at the pockets and the boldly stitched ‘Cat’ on the left shoulder.  Her formal whites said ‘Chef Grant’ but Sundays at  _ C’est Toi _ were a bit more relaxed and casual than the average Saturday night.  Her father had given her this coat the day she’d bought the place and she’d kept it pristine ever since.  She’d worn it to his funeral, and promised that day to never let a week go by that she didn’t wear it at least once.  She’d never broken that promise once in ten years.

She shook her head free of the memories and made her way inside.  The sight of Carter pulling vegetables from the cooler for prep made her smile.  Provided his homework was done and he didn’t need to be up early the next day, Carter was allowed to spend his Sundays with Cat at the restaurant.  He was an enthusiastic young cook and loved to help with everything from mixing a compound butter to julienning carrots.  He’d inherit the place someday.  She was glad he felt at home here.

Lucy’s absence from the kitchen and her office was suspect, so Cat made her way out to the dining room, placing a hair net over Carter’s wild curls on her way.  Still no sign of Lucy so Cat unlocked the front door to grab the morning paper.  Lena Luthor’s review would likely be somewhere in the Lifestyle section of the Tribune.  The door hit an obstacle as it swung open and Lucy Lane let out an undignified yelp as she leapt out of the way.

“Lucy, what the hell?” Cat stepped onto the sidewalk and grabbed the paper from it’s normal spot just out of reach of the door.

“Sorry.  I was… on my way to the market...”  Lucy sounded distracted as Cat stood and followed her interested gaze to a point across the cobbled street where a beat-up red pickup with a mismatched blue hood was parked in front of a storefront overflowing with wooden crates, cardboard boxes and plastic bins.  Some kind of refrigerated trailer was hitched to the back and Cat’s curiosity overflowed with questions.  

The property had been empty since the Greek family that owned the homey little cafe had picked up and moved to Star City.  Cat missed them.  She missed their easy laughter and their strong, dark coffee and even their rambunctious boys.  Carter missed them too.  But now, the “For Lease” sign that had been a permanent fixture in the glass door had disappeared and the window in the second story apartment above was open, a gingham curtain billowing in and out with the breeze.  It was as though a benevolent spirit had blown through the building overnight and breathed warm new life into a quiet corner of the neighborhood.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cat marvelled as the front door of the place squeaked it’s protest and two young women, a blonde and a brunette, came out.

“Remind me to get some WD40 on that door, Alex,” she heard the blonde say as she swung the door back and forth a couple of times.

“Remind me to get some WD40 on this entire building,” the brunette sassed back.

A snort from Lucy drew her gaze to the shorter woman next to her.  Lucy was smiling.  “They’ve been snarking at each other like that since I got out here.”

“And exactly how long have you been out here, Chef Lane?”

“That’s not important, this is the good part… watch.”  Heat flashed in Lucy’s eyes and Cat raised her eyebrows but drew her gaze back to the women across the way.  The pair had a whispered exchange they weren’t privy to and the blonde vaulted into the back of the truck as though she was made of air.

The young woman, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and covered with a cheap straw cowboy hat, was wearing a pair of ancient cutoff overalls.  One of the metal clips had come undone and it flopped across her chest exposing the grey ribbed tank underneath.  The tall, slender frame bent at the waist, providing a sinful view and effortlessly lifted a crate that appeared to be full to the brim with some kind of leafy green.  Cat watched as the longest legs she’d ever seen bent and flexed and stood again.  

A green bandana spilled out the back pocket of those tiny shorts and Cat’s fingers flexed a bit involuntarily with the desire to grab that scrap of cloth and wipe the dirt from one flushed, rosy cheek.  The woman looked like she’d just walked off the cover of one of the guilty pleasure lesbian paperbacks Cat always found in the back corner of the used bookstore up the street.  Defined arms and a neck that went for days glistened a bit with the warmth of the California morning sun.

“Jesus Lesbian Christ,” Cat whispered, transfixed.

“Uh huh,” echoed Lucy.  “It’s not over yet.”

Twin heads tilted to the side like curious puppies as the blonde handed the full crate down to the brunette waiting on the cobblestone street by the side of the truck.  She was wearing pale blue Wranglers with a tear in the back upper thigh that had to have been put there by some deity.  She accepted the crate and placed it on the ground, turning just long enough to show off her worn blue t-shirt that said ‘Farmers Do It On A Tractor’ on the front.  The sleeves hit just the right place on her biceps to stretch the fabric to the point that Cat feared for their integrity.  Short brown hair spilled out from beneath a snapback that sported an acronym Cat couldn’t place, ANLF.

“Dibs on Snapback,” Lucy practically growled and bit her lip.

Cat rolled her eyes.  “Stop it.  For all we know they’re together, or straight, or… Republicans.”

The brunette accepted another crate, this one full of bright naval oranges and offered her companion a hand down.  As the Amazon in overalls landed softly and stood up straight, she looked up to see they had an audience.  Oops.  Cat fiddled with the forgotten newspaper in her hands in an effort to look like she hadn’t been ogling the new neighbors with barely contained lust, but it was too late.

The brunette gave a half-hearted protest as she was drug by the hand across the street.  Cat looked up from the paper to a smile that could have powered the sun as the young woman with sparkling blue eyes stopped in front of her.

“Hi!” she practically bounced.  “I’m Kara, this is my sister, Alex.  We’re your new neighbors.”  Alex gave a shy wave from behind Kara and stuck her hands in her pockets.  “We’re um, opening a new place in a couple weeks.  We’ve got a ton of work to do before then.”

Cat didn’t respond beyond a slow nod and a firmer grip on her paper, so Lucy chimed in for her.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, ladies.  I think you’ll find Oakdale a pretty hospitable place.”

“If you can avoid the manbuns and patterned scarves,” Cat mumbled.

“What?” Kara giggled.

“Nothing.”  Cat managed a smile.  “Welcome.”

Kara fiddled with her hands and met Cat’s eyes.  “Ok, there’s no good way to do this, so you’ll just need to accept that I’m going to mess it all up, but...um...you’re Cat Grant!”  She giggled and rubbed her hands against the denim at her hips.

Cat smirked.  “The one and only.”

Cat thought for a moment the girl might prostrate herself, but thankfully Kara stayed upright.  “Chef Grant, I am such a huge fan.  I’ve practically memorized all of your cookbooks.  I’m on my third copy of  _ Le Chat de Paris _ .”

A giggle from Alex piqued Cat’s interest and a single eyebrow raised.

Kara shot her sister a glare and blushed.  “I, um, lit the other two on fire… by accident.”

“Might want to keep that little confession from the fire chief when she comes to inspect, dear.”

Kara’s blush deepened and Lucy mercifully came to her rescue.

“It was great to meet you both,” she gave Alex a meaningful little appraisal, “but we’ve only got a few hours before open and have a lot of prep to do.  If you’ll excuse us?”

“O-of course.  It was an honor to meet you, Chef.  Come to opening night.  We’d love to have you.  I’ll drop a couple of official invitations by later this week.”

“Thank you, Kiera.  We’ll consider it.”  Cat turned on her heel and swung the door open, disappearing inside. 

“Bye,” she heard Lucy say as she followed in her wake.

Once the door closed and they were alone in the empty dining room, Lucy called her out.  “We’ll consider it?  Cat Grant, if you don’t take every opportunity to let those women cook you food, I will set myself on fire and haunt your kitchen until the end of time.”

“And risk food poisoning from that no doubt atrocity of a kitchen?” Cat scoffed.

"It would be so worth it.”

Cat’s retort was cut off by the loud metallic clatter of a hotel pan from the vicinity of the kitchen.

“Everything’s fine!” Carter yelled.  Cat and Lucy exchanged a familiar grin and returned to the kitchen to investigate the damage.

 

XXX

 

Kara stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk in front of ‘ _ C’est Toi’ _ .

“Well, played, Casanova.”

“I invited her to opening.  Why did I invite her to opening?”  Kara turned terrified eyes on Alex.

“Because you’re an idiot who can’t control herself in the presence of a beautiful woman.  Her sous chef is hot too.  Lucy Lane, right?”

Kara nodded.  “What the hell am I gonna do?”

“ _ You’re _ not going to do anything, little sister.   _ We _ are going to knock it out of the park.  Fancy French Chef Cat Grant won’t know what hit her when she tries your lobster tacos.”

Kara took a deep breath and jogged back across the street and hopped back into the truck.

“Well, bust a move then, because  _ we  _ have a ton of work to do before there are actual lobster tacos coming out of that kitchen.”  Kara picked up another crate and handed it down to Alex.  “We passed a promising little food truck a few blocks down.  Get everything unloaded by noon and fix the squeak in the door and I’ll buy you a beer and a burger before we tackle the cobwebs under the prep tables.”

Alex grinned.  “You’re on.”  She hefted the crate and headed for the door.

Kara allowed herself one final, wistful look at the door of  _ C’est Toi _ across the street before vaulting the side of the truck and landing gracefully on the pavement.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena's review of Cat's restaurant is published, Carter makes brunch, and Kara and Alex still have a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to reginalovesemma for the edits and for always always encouraging me to keep going.  
> <3

The crash from the kitchen turned out to be a stack of hotel pans knocked over by a clumsy Carter.  Lucy helped him get cleaned up and back to whatever he was working on before the distraction from the delicious new neighbors.  Meanwhile, Cat settled herself into the safety of her office and found Lena Luthor’s article in that morning’s paper.

 

**_The Taming of Le Chat_ **

**_By Lena Luthor_ **

 

The headline caused a single eyebrow on Cat’s forehead to inch up towards her hairline.

Cat had been called many things through her years of climbing the ranks of the food world, but ‘tame’ had never been one of them.  She’d taken great pains to prevent it. To see it in bold print at the front of the Sunday Lifestyle section of one of the world’s most prominent newspapers did not bode well for her mood or her future patronage.

With a bit of shuffling through papers on her desk, she located her reading glasses and slid them onto her nose.  She adjusted the paper with a pointed snap and proceeded to read.

 

_ While nobody will dispute Chef Cat Grant’s talent, palette, leadership or success, an evening at her 5-star restaurant left me wondering if ten years in the same place has turned a once innovative risk-taker into a complacent monument to the chef she once was. _

_ The food was divine, the service, perfection and I’ll admit to a few pleasant surprises throughout the evening even if the overall experience can be described as surprisingly safe. _

_ Course one of the six course tasting menu was a perfect blend of sweet and savory with a crispy white wine to pair… _

 

Cat read on, three pages of ‘this was delightful but’ topped off with an almost insulting sign-off.

 

_ A visit to C’est Toi will surely leave you wanting more, but the question we as food adventurers must ask ourselves is, ‘Is that a good thing?' _

 

Cat tossed her glasses onto the desk and squeezed the bridge of her nose.  Not the rave she was expecting, and her innovation and evolution as a chef being called into question made her blood boil.

She lifted her head at the knock on her door and Snapper appeared, tying an apron around his waist.  “Your kid is using half the kitchen, but the consomme is started, and the -” He stopped short at the sight of Cat’s face.  “Who died.”

“My creativity, apparently,” Cat quipped, and held out the paper to Snapper.

He read the first few lines and rolled his eyes.  “You believe this hack? She only got the job because Mommy drug her through culinary school on the tails of her ratty old coat.”

“I don’t have to believe it.  The city will believe it plenty enough for all of us.  I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is, Lucas.  We can’t afford a hit like this.”

Just then, Lucy breezed in fresh from a visit to the market.  “A hit like what?”

Snapper wordlessly handed her the paper.

“Bullshit,” Lucy managed through clenched teeth.  “Fuck this, Cat. You’re the best chef in the city, everyone knows that.”

Cat stood.  “Even so, if it’s new food she wants, let’s give her new food.  Lucy, that aperitif tonight needs to be flawless, I’ll work on an entree special for tonight and get it on the sidewalk board.  Snapper, I want you to rally the troops and have them at their best tonight. Work with Winslow on dessert, something we’ve never seen before.”  She pointed a finger at him. “I want them having orgasms at the table, Lucas. You may never have experienced one, but surely you’ve seen them on the dark web.”

“Fuck off, Grant.”  He hid his smirk well and left, pulling his phone from his pocket to get their pastry chef in early.

Lucy dared to cross the office and lay a hand on Cat’s shoulder.  “It really isn’t as bad as you think, Cat. You’re an institution in this town.  You aren’t going anywhere.” She gave Cat a reassuring smile and disappeared back to the kitchen.

Cat sighed and tossed the paper back on her desk.  “I’m not ready to be an institution,” she murmured to herself.  “I’m not done being an inspiration, yet.”

 

XX

 

“Mom!” Carter called from the dining room.  “Brunch!”

The troubles of the morning melted away as Cat covered her marinating rack of lamb and tucked it into the cooler for safe-keeping until it was time to roast it.  She made her way to her empty dining room, currently occupied only by her loyal culinary sidekicks and her sweet son who was proudly placing platters around the large eight-top at the center of the room.

Lucy and Snapper were already seated.  Carter’s brunches had very specific rules.  Restaurant employees are forbidden from helping.  This was their chance to be served. California child labor laws prevented Carter from being able to prepare or cook any food that would be served to guests, but Cat allowed him a couple of Sunday’s a month to cook for whatever staff happened to be hanging around at brunchtime.

Cat laid a peck on top of Carter’s golden brown curls and took her seat.  Carter poured hand-squeezed grapefruit juice over muddled mint leaves and simple sugar before setting the carafe on the table and laying Cat’s napkin across her lap.

“I did the frittata today, mom!  It worked! I did what you said and didn’t overbeat the eggs and it came out perfect.  I think I used too many leeks, and next time I’ll use the fontina instead of the gouda, but I like it anyway.”  He started serving each of them a healthy slice of a delicious looking egg dish dotted with baby portabellas and garnished with fresh parsley.  

“I can’t wait to try it, sweetheart.  It smells divine.”

“Hey, Lucy, the lox isn’t homemade, but mom got it at that deli you like, and I mixed an onion caper cream cheese to go on the crostini.”  He set a platter next to Lucy. It was full of freshly baked, sliced baguette, topped meticulously and generously with cream cheese and salmon. “Plus…” Carter proudly lifted a cloche to reveal a stack of steaming potato pancakes.  “Latkes!” he boasted. “Your favorite!”

Lucy pulled Carter into a hug from her seat.  “This looks tremendous, kiddo. Thank you!”

Carter blushed.  “Mr. Carr helped with getting the oil at the right temperature.  And with some of the flipping.” He giggled. “I broke a few.”

Snapper gave his shoulder a little nudge as he took his own seat.  “You’ll get the hang of it. It’s all in the wrist and the confidence, Curly.”

Carter took his seat and passed a plate of croissants to Cat.  “I made some hazelnut sauce for your pastry too, Mom.”

“Oh, my darling child, I did raise you right.”  She settled a croissant on her plate and drizzled the dark, sweet sauce across the top.

Lucy raised her glass and grinned around the table.  “A toast!” Her voice echoed slightly in the empty dining room.  “To the Greater Grant. May he one day rule this kitchen with his generous sweetness and just a pinch of his mother’s salt.”  She winked.

“Careful, Lesser Lane, I’m still in charge until he’s old enough to filet his own roughy.”

Lucy feigned offense.  “Oh, I’m Lesser Lane? I can’t wait to tell Lois, she’ll be thrilled.”

“Don’t you dare.” Cat gave her a half smile.

They drank in celebration and dug in.  Carter basked in the praise and eagerly discussed with Lucy what he wanted to make next.  He really was a talented little cook and Cat’s heart swelled with pride as he pulled a pad and pen from his chef coat and began taking notes about how everything tasted.  She had hoped to bequeath this restaurant to him one day. She had a dream of teaching him the ins and outs of a well-run kitchen, standing by his side as he flawlessly re-created her most prized dishes, pouring over his own creations, tweaking minute amounts of coriander and cardamom until it was perfect.  She’d imagined taking him on trips to France and Italy and East Asia and South America, tasting everything along the way so he could find his own unique taste and style. If she gave him nothing else in life, she’d give him a well-rounded palette. She remembered every time she’d closed her eyes and listened to her busy kitchen and envisioned him at the center, pushing his staff and creating magic, long after she’d retired to a vineyard somewhere.

But the numbers didn’t lie, and neither did Lena Luthor.  Ten years was approaching shelf-life for a restaurant in a gentrifying neighborhood and the vision faded before her eyes.

“Hey mom, Noah and some of the other gang are firing up a Call of Duty tourney this afternoon.  Can I Uber home and log on?”

And just like that, her budding chef became a teenager again.

“Sure, darling.  Try not to melt into the sofa.  We close at 6 tonight, so if you’re still on when I get home, screentime this week will be book time.  Deal?”

“Deal.  Thanks mom!”  He bounded around the table and gave her cheek an enthusiastic peck before grabbing a few empty plates and disappearing.

“Spotless kitchen before you call the Uber!”

“You’re the best, Mom!” he shouted before she heard the familiar sounds of a kitchen on it’s way to clean.”

“I’m gonna go help him,” Lucy smiled at her.  “You done good, Mom. That frittata is on point.  And, stop overthinking the review, Cat. You always land on your feet.”

“Don’t worry about me, Luce.  I’m a muse to the world. Little Luthor wouldn’t know inspiration if she choked on it.  And she almost did last night.”

Lucy snorted and took an armful of dishes back to the kitchen.

Cat looked around her quiet dining room and the remains of their happy, carefree brunch, and allowed herself one final moment of despair before her laser focus returned.  

“Alright, Grant.  Let’s go to work.”

 

XX

 

“Kara. Focus!”  Alex waved a sweet potato fry under Kara’s nose to get her attention.

“Sorry!  Sorry. I’m listening.”

Alex rolled her eyes.  “No you’re not. You’re daydreaming of Cat Grant’s… brunoise.” 

“Shut up, I am not.”

Alex polished off her beer.

“Okay, fine.  But can you blame me?  She’s beautiful and famous and talented and across the street!  How am I supposed to keep it together knowing she’s a couple of yards away with those… hands and… knives… and…”

“Okay, you are entirely useless.  How about you focus on the food and I’ll deal with the health inspection, and the fire inspection and the bank and the decorating and the-”

“Alright!  I get it. Head in the game.  I promise.”

“Finish your burger.  We’re hitting Ikea this afternoon and the inspectors come tomorrow so we need to have the kitchen in full working order.  All-nighter tonight.”

“Ugh.  Whatever you say, boss,” Kara whined.

“Yep,” Alex countered.  “Hey, will you call me that in front of Cat’s hot sous chef?”

“Gross, Sis.”  Kara crumpled her wrapper and tossed it into the trash a few feet away.  “Let’s go.”

 

XX

 

A knock on the door startled Kara so badly, the bucket of bleach water she was carrying splashed across her front.

“Shit,” she whispered and looked up.  Through the smudged glass of the door the shadowy outlines of Cat Grant and Lucy Lane blocked the bright orange of the fading sunlight.  They carried two cloche covered dishes. “Shit,” Kara muttered again. She set the bucket on the floor and began dabbing at her worn tanktop with the towel that had been slung over her shoulder.

She strode to the door and flung it open.

“Hi!” she squeaked.

Kara was frozen in place by the sight before her.  Even after an entire evening spent in the depths of a hot kitchen, Cat Grant looked as though she’d walked off the pages of Food and Wine.  Her chef’s coat was open revealing a faded v-neck with a well-dressed cat on the front. Her usually well-coiffed hair was curling a bit at the ends, owing to a night under heat lamps and in and out of ovens and coolers.  She looked carefree and exhausted and surprisingly relaxed.

Lucy stood next to her looking slightly more wrung out but no less beautiful.  She’d chosen to leave her chef whites behind and was showing off bare shoulders under a loose tanktop.

Kara gripped the towel tighter and stepped aside to allow them entrance.

Cat and Lucy smiled their thanks but their attention was taken by a ruckus coming from the kitchen doorway.

Before Kara could warn her, a disheveled Alex skidded from the kitchen clad only in low-slung jeans and a black sports bra.

“Shit,” Alex blurted.  She pulled her t-shirt from the back of her pants and slung it over her head.  “Hi.”

Lucy was the first to find her voice.  “We saw your lights on and thought you might be hungry.”


End file.
